Historical Mess (oneshot)
by Green Mountain
Summary: America walks into a very odd meeting room.


Historical Mess

"THE HERO HAS ARRIVED!" America shouted, slamming open the meeting room doors. Then he froze. "Uh, dudes?"

Spain was holding a large and very dangerous looking battle axe, and had the majority of Latin America backed, shivering in fear, in a corner of the room.

England and France were dueling on the table, while Russia, seemingly unaffected by the numerous historical re-lapses around him, watched in interest. Upon seeing the American nation, however, he swept out of the room.

"Commie," Alfred muttered irritably. He frowned at China and Japan, who were tense, facing each other as if ready to fight at the drop of a pin.

America sighed. It looked like the world was trying to re-live the past. Again.

Alfred decided to deal with Spain first, partly because he wasn't actively dueling anyone, and partly to clear a good area of the room. Why did there have to be so many countries in Latin America anyway? He made a mental note to ask one of them sometime.

Alfred pulled a wireless speaker out of thin air, and his phone out of his back pocket. He skimmed through his music until he found the track he was looking for, than tapped it.

 _Macerad_ a came over the speaker, loud enough to catch the _Conquistador's_ attention. Spain turned around and regarded Alfred with mildly curious, red eyes. Then the European nation _shifted_. His aura lightened, and he put his axe back into thin air. Antonio shook himself, " _Ay, Estados Unidos, Lo siento, América,_ (Oh, United States, I'm sorry, America,)"

" _De nada, España,_ (No problem, Spain)" Alfred replied, "We'll call off the meeting today. Go on," he let Spain pass him on the way to the door, then Latin America, all of them looking deeply shaken.

Alfred turned next to England and France, then decided to let them fight a little longer. He walked over to Kiku, and wrapped his arms around the Asian nation from behind. Japan started, and tried to twist free, but Alfred whispered, "Don't worry, I've got you. And I won't let you fall," Kiku stiffened, than slumped in Alfred's arms, at the words America had told him as the shorter nation started to recover after the Second World War.

China lunged forward, striking at Japan with his frying pan. Alfred twisted, and the pan hit him on the left shoulder. He felt his shoulder dislocate, and quickly lowered the unconscious Japan to the floor. Than America grabbed the frying pan and pulled China closer with it.

" _Stop acting immature,"_ he scolded the other nation in Yao's native Chinese, looking the Asian country in the eyes.

Yao gasped, falling to one knee but recovering almost instantly. America picked up Japan again and handed him off to China. "Meeting's over for today. Why don't you take him to his room, and get some rest yourself," he told Yao, slipping Kiku's room key out of the sleeping nation's pocket and handing it to China.

Yao nodded, likely not trusting himself to speak, and carried Japan out of the room. Alfred didn't miss the kind glance China gave Kiku. _Still his older brother,_ the American thought.

As the superpower turned to the table, he sighed in resignation, absently rubbing his, though healed, still sore shoulder. These two were always the hardest.

Alfred opened a track on his phone, but didn't play it just yet. He got onto the table behind Francis, and waited for the move he knew was coming... _there._

Alfred jumped forward, pressing play on his phone before dropping it to grab France's wrist.

Air raid sirens began to play. Arthur jumped off, than dove under, the table reflexively.

At the same time, France spun, punching America hard in the stomach. Alfred, though winded, still managed to grab Francis's other wrist, and pulled the European nation down with him as he sank to his knees.

America gasped, " _What year is it_ ," he managed, in French.

France stared at him blankly.

" _Francis Bonnefoy, what year is it?"_ Alfred repeated.

France's confused expression dissolved, and he blinked, his eyes changing shade ever so slightly. Alfred let him go, and they both stood up. America picked up his phone and turned off the sirens.

"I'm sorry, _Amerique_ ," France said as England crawled out from under the table, "It was _Angleterre's_ fault."

"Was not!" Arthur exclaimed, brushing himself off, "It was China- he was complaining about how much he had seen, and I suppose we all just... remembered..."

"Well," Alfred told them, "The meeting's over for today. Go on back to your hotels or whatever."

Once England and France's bickering had faded down the hallway, Alfred headed out, back to his hotel.

He needed to find Canada. If anyone knew how to bring France back to the present faster, it would be his southern twin.


End file.
